I Write Tragedies, Not Sins
by CartoonFreak56
Summary: The Phantom of the Opera, from the Phantom's point of view. Done in 1st person.
1. Prologue

aligncenteri"Why you ask was I bound and chained in this cold and dismal place?

Not for any mortal sin,

but the wickedness of my abhorrent face!"/align/i

aligncentersize7Prologue: Paris, 1911/size/align

A weather-beaten sign hangs askew over the dilapidated theater. By squinting his eyes, a man of his 60's can see that the chipped white paint reads PUBLIC AUCTION TOADY. The abandoned theater seems quite un ideal for a public auction, but the man feels a strange allure to the place. He tentatively moves towards the theater across the vacant, dismal streets of Paris. Before the theater caught fire, he remembered, this had been a bustling spot for thrill-seeking travelers and work-weary locals alike. In fact, this once-premier opera house had been among the most acclaimed in the world.

As he continued into the foyer, he can hear the distant billowing of the auctioneer banging his gavel on wood and people bidding on items unknown to him.

"Lot 664!" shouts the auctioneer as the man emerged into the foyer, occupied by a small group of brave souls who dared venture in such a loathsome place. "Five real human skulls used in the 1881 production of iHannibal/i. Might I start the bidding at 30 francs?..."

The man has no interest in this lot. He seeks something much more profound, perhaps as a reminder of the incident...iWas it thirty years now/i He shrugs it off and awaits the next lot. While waiting, he observes the room around him. It appears as though no one had made any effort to revive the Opera House since the fire. Beautiful stained glass still lays shattered all over the creaky wooden floor. Once prominent marble statues are chipped and lay in ruin on the floor, and he swears he just saw a mouse scurry away. This place brings back memories, he thinks. Some of them the most horrible memories of his life, and others the most joyful.

"…Sold for thirty Francs, then. Thank you, m'am," the auctioneer said tapping his gavel and handing the skulls to a middle aged woman dressed in black.

"Now…Lot 665," the auctioneer began. "A toy monkey in a box dressed in Arabian attire found deep in the catacombs. By winding the lever, he plays a song while crashing the cymbals," he continued, as he wound the toy for a demonstration.

This is an object the man desires. Watching the monkey and listening to the song gives him an incredible amount of emotion. He doesn't know weather to cry, laugh, or shout, so he just stares and remembers and closes his eyes.

Strolling down memory lane in a trance-like state, he is completely oblivious to the fact the bidding has begun.

"…20 francs, do I hear 20 francs?" The auctioneer bellows, his deep voice echoing through the vacant foyer and the intertwining catacombs below.

The auctioneer's voice wakes the man from his trance, and he abruptly raises his hand to bid. The auctioneer acknowledges him.

"20 francs, thank you sir. Do I hear 25 francs? 25?"

The man prays that no one would try to win the toy from him. He exchanges a few glances with those around him, hoping that no one would try to win it form an old man.

When it becomes apparent that no one intends on bidding on the object, the gavel was pounded, and the toy given to the old man. He gently grasps the antique toy in his large, gentle hands. The box is playing a tune that the man scarcely remembers, but the effect remains just as powerful. He sighs deeply and ponderously at the mysterious object.

"Ah….Lot 666…"the auctioneer interrupts. "An interesting one indeed…" he tails off. He leaves his podium and ventures to his left to a very large object the man hadn't noticed before. The item was covered by a sheet, and it had no definite shape. The man wonders what could possible be underneath it.

"Some of you may remember the strange case of iThe Phantom of the Opera/i…" he says as he lifts the sheet, revealing a dusty chandelier that once hung prominently in the theater.

The man gasps. Partly because the auctioneer had startled him, but mostly because of what it was. You see, the man most definitely remembered iThe Phantom/i. But his memory of the incident was much more vivid than that of the others…


	2. He Who Dons the Cloak of Shadow

ialigncentersize7Part One: He who dons the Cloak of Shadow /align/size

size4Setting: Thirty Years Earlier: 1881/size/i

A fleeting speck of black from the shadows grazes the corner of your eye. Quite subtle, yet profound in itself. You ignore it and continue with your business. Minutes later, you see it again, this time more noticeable. You are quite positive that no one could be way up in the rafters, especially during rehearsal. You begin to doubt your own mind and are drawn into a world of uncertainty.

After rehearsal, you find it best not to mention the incident to the other actors, but to your surprise, you find that they are complaining of similar incidents, all involving something from shadow. One of the actors even swears he heard the creaking of the rafter above, as if there had been someone up there, spying on them.

But spying is such a harsh word. I don't spy. I prefer to call it isubtle observance /i. Perhaps my manner is a bit unorthodox, but no matter. I retreat to the cover of shadow and darkness because no one could ever possibly ibegin/i to understand me. You see, no one has seen my face in over forty years. My public appearance have been confined to small disturbances in the corner of your eye, a faint outline in the corner, and foreboding shadows cast over the stage.

But why do I bother with such petty things as 'spying'? I would think that such a thing would be below me. Years ago, it would have been. But my motive in doing so is much different than you might think.

"What is the problem here?'" the director growled to his actors, who were beginning to feel a bit uneasy by all this.

"Nothing is wrong," Carlotta, the leading lady, rose to say. "We wish to continue with rehearsal," she finished, very matter-of-factly.

"Very well then! Come now, everyone, positions, from the top!" the director bellowed.

Bah! This woman could never lead an Opera here! The star must possess a voice that mesmerizes the soul and paralyzes the senses. When you hear her sing, you are whisked into the mysterious world of music and pure beauty. You forget where you are, why you are there, and even who you are. You are lost in the universe her voice creates.

I have found her. She is here in the Opera house, but her itrue/ibeauty still lay undiscovered, concealed by the image of Carlotta's false stardom. I intended to change this, not only for the sake of her and the opera house, but for the sake of me and my sanity.

But who am I to say this, you ask? Who am I to disrespect perhaps the most renowned opera singer in the world? Who am I to say that this woman, a mere chorus girl, could replace Carlotta?

From the moment I heard her sing, the moment the music came from her lips, I fell deeply and passionately in love. iThe world must hear her voice/i I thought. Today would be the day. She would be exposed to the world as a star.

aligncenterI am The Phantom of the Opera. /align


End file.
